The (Mis)Adventures of Vega & Remy
by Maki82
Summary: Vega (Claw) forms an unlikely friendship with a nihilistic French fighter named Remy. This is a story about them; takes place between chapters in Origins of the Spanish Ninja. You don't need to read Orgins to understand it, but it might help! One-shot/Spin-off


Surprise! I bet you weren't expecting this, were you? Neither was I.

What follows is just something I was inspired to write in the process of figuring out my sequel to **Origins of the Spanish Ninja** and it is a little lighter! It was written very quickly but I hope you enjoy it.

This takes place between the last few chapters that Remy appears in my other story but you do not have to read it to understand it...I hope. But if you'd like to read the main story, it's here ( **WARNING: Blood, gore, violence, abuse, rape, etc** ) s/8255134/1/Origins-of-the-Spanish-Ninja-Tastes-Like-Red-Wine

 **DISCLAIMER: This story contains blood & violence, bad language. Vega & Remy belong to STREET FIGHTER, owned by CAPCOM.**

* * *

It had been several months since the tourney when I last saw Remy. I had totaled his jacket and nearly killed him with my claw. I had no real intention of killing him, but my claw's hunger is not easily sated.

I met the handsome Frenchman who was only a few years older than myself only a few months before that fateful tournament—the qualifying rounds for the World Warriors Tournament and immediately, we struck a bond that even now, I am not sure how to explain.

When I watched them drag him unconscious from the ring, I wondered what would become of him; if he would be okay and if I would ever see him again. It did not matter to me whether he wanted to see me or not.

And so it was when one day he poked his head in my door as I lay on my bed, enjoying my afternoon _siesta_ as always. I had been staying with my mother at the home of our family friend, Marc Antoní Gauldera, a fellow Spaniard living in Lyons, France. However, _why_ we were there is a story for another time...

" _'Allo_ , you fucking stupid Spanish asshole!" he drawled, taking a drag from his cigarette and letting the smoke drift in wispy tendrils from his lips before blowing the rest out.

"Remy!" I exclaimed, even despite myself and sitting up on the edge of bed.

I knew that foul-mouthed Frenchman anywhere; he had striking long straight cyan blue hair that hung down in silken tresses passed his shoulders with blue eyes that matched; his lithe and lanky frame I just barely towered over, and he had pale skin, like had not seen the sun in months. He was mysterious and it enamored me.

He entered the room wearing his usual tight leather jacket that was zipped up to the neck and red flared pants with brown boots.

I wondered how his precious leather jacket was not destroyed in the fight; however, I did not have to wonder long when his fist connected with my nose, sending me tumbling backwards across the bed. He grabbed me by my shirt collar just as I was about to tumble to the floor, his stern but beautiful face inches from mine.

I grinned as the blood ran from my nose down my lips. His bright blue eyes bored angrily into me, still hidden from beneath his long turquoise blue hair and I could see his mouth curling in disgust.

"I was waiting for that." I said, licking the blood from my lips.

"You fucking bastard!" he hissed. "You nearly killed me! You nearly killed me...and that's all you can say?" he shook me hard but I did not relent.

"I am _sorry..._ that you bleed so easily!"

He growled and threw me down against the bed; it was difficult to contain my lust at such brutal treatment but all I could do was enjoy the moment. I wiped the blood away with my handkerchief and held my nose for a moment.

"How did you fix your jacket?"

He smirked, pacing before me and taking intermittent drags of his cigarette; he pushed his long blue hair back.

"My jacket wasn't so hard to fix..." he unzipped it to show his finely toned bare chest. I nearly dropped my handkerchief when I saw 3 long scar marks across his abdomen, right where I remembered hitting him with my claw. I swallowed hard and I met his steely blue gaze.

"I needed more than 50 stitches and lost a lot of blood. I was in the hospital for _months_ because of you, asshole."

My awe of him killed the words in my throat the more I stared into his eyes and I cleared my throat.

"I am sorry, Remy, but you did not expect me to go easy on you, did you? After all, you never went easy on _me_..."

He rolled his eyes, holding his cigarette in his mouth while he zipped his jacket back up.

"So, you came all this way to give me a bloody nose?"

He turned back to me and took the cigarette from his mouth.

"No, you asshole, I didn't, but it was at the top of my list as soon as I was better!"

By now the bleeding had stopped and I wiggled my nose, cleaning the rest of the blood off and checking it in the mirror to see there was no permanent damage. I smoothed my hair and turned back to him, crossing my arms and leaning against my table.

There was a tense silence.

"So, did you see my mother?" I asked finally.

Remy glared at me.

" _Non, mon Dieu!_ "

I chuckled.

"Hmmph. I suppose that's best for all of us!"

I had not spoken to her in weeks since our last fight and I intended to keep it that way—yet another story for another time...

He puffed hard on his cigarette, and the end glowed bright red, inhaling the smoke and blowing it out again.

"I think once with your mother is enough."

I smirked.

My mother Victoria was a young and vivacious woman; she had long blonde hair and blue eyes—just like mine—and a _very_ voluptuous figure. Many men pursued her but she did not give in; we shared a close bond from the moment I was born that defied any rules; I was her protector from the abuses at the hand of my cruel stepfather Miguel and it was this cruelty that formed a closeness that only we could understand. I also knew at times she could be flirtatious but I paid no mind, for I alone possessed her heart.

Seeing her flirt with Remy not so long ago was quite harmless but she was an _intense_ woman—to say the least—and for an introverted person like Remy, I knew she terrified him.

He sighed heavily and sat on the edge of my bed, his head in his hands; I knew it was serious.

"What is it?"

It was silent for a moment while I waited for him to speak and he looked back up at me.

"It's Yvette."

"Yvette?" I exclaimed, "That wh-"

"Don't say it! Don't even _think_ of calling her that!" he snapped and I bit my lip. "You _know_ what she means to me."

Losing his beloved sister Émilie years before, he was on his own. He had no family to speak of _except_ her, and this Yvette woman rescued him from the streets, being a woman of the streets herself—she worked as prostitute out of her home—something with which I found much disgust.

I rolled my eyes and sighed.

"Yes, yes. So what is wrong?"

"She's having some...trouble. There are these thugs constantly harassing her, telling her that she belongs to them since she works in their territory."

" _Pobrecita_." I snickered.

"Vega, it's serious! They could kill her and then...and then, I'll have no one."

He looked down and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. I felt my heart sink into my stomach a little. It was hard to explain why he had such an affect on me, but the idea of being alone terrified me more than anything and to know someone facing such a thing—well, it was unthinkable.

"It's alright, Remy. I'll help you."

"I'm not going to say thank you. I don't even want to be here right now."

"You're lying, but that's okay. I won't tell." I said with a grin.

"Go to hell." he growled, but I could hear the gratitude in his voice. "And don't forget your claw."

* * *

We arrived back at Yvette's quaint little yellow house and I found myself back inside the dimly lit home, surrounded by antiques and stained velvet furniture. Old brocade curtains blocked out the light except for a few rays of sun that peaked through, shining in a smoky haze.

Yvette was an older woman, maybe a little older than my mother. She had curly auburn hair that was haphazardly swept up and tendrils framed her face; her skin was darkened perhaps from years of smoking, and her green eyes bore the signs of aging in a difficult life. Even if I did not care to admit, I knew she must have been beautiful when she was younger.

She wore an ivory colored camisole and a floral shawl hung off her shoulders.

She sat at her dining room table, reading tarot cards, a cigarette resting in one hand, the smoke clouding over her like incense. Her brows furrowed, her dark red mouth twisted into a grimace as she stared at the cards.

"Yvette, we're here." Remy announced over her shoulder.

She moaned and looked up at him.

"The cards tell me nothing, nothing!" and she slammed her hands down against the table in resignation.

"You were always telling me it was bad to read them when you're upset. Why do it now?"

Yvette liked to read the tarot; I myself have no idea why she would enjoy such a thing, but she once read my fortune and I must say, it did not please me. Remy was a hardened skeptic, a _nihilist_ to the highest degree and dismissed the idea altogether but, for her sake, he seemed to humor her.

"Because, Remy my love, I am...desperate."

"Vega and I have come to help. I won't let you do this alone; you mean more to me than that."

Her eyes filled with tears and she nodded, looking down at the floor.

I had taken a seat on her old velvet couch, my legs crossed and my hands folded over my knee. Yvette looked at me, her eyes gleaming with tears. I knew that look a thousand times over and it was a look I most dreaded in women.

"So you've come to help, _eh?_ If you think you will get a free ride out of this, you are wrong."

I smirked.

"It was not free the _last_ time."

 _Last_ time, I had thrown a wad of money at her and despite arguing with her profusely, she decided to do me anyway—out of spite and out of love for Remy.

"Ah, fair enough! But I will not be taken advantage of in my misfortune."

"I have no intention of it. I am simply here to help Remy."

She produced another cigarette and lit it, taking a drag before she spoke again, looking into my eyes.

"Then, you are a better friend than I give you credit for."

Remy looked looked over at me and I grinned.

"Please, Yvette. Tell me how we can help," he implored the older woman, taking a seat next to me on the sofa and she sat in her red velvet chair facing us.

"I have had some...trouble with local gangs in the area. They have declared that I am to pay them my earning since I operate my business in their territory. I told them I am my own woman and I had no intention of working for thugs, let alone a pimp, but if I do not pay them soon, they have threatened to hurt me...or worse."

Remy cursed under his breath.

"I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. Vega and I will take care of it."

"Oh Remy! You're so sweet! I do not know what I'd do without you!" she exclaimed and ran to him and kissed his cheek. He quickly turned and pecked her lips tenderly. I could see the love they had for one another; it defied convention and explanation—but I suppose that it did not need one.

"You know, perhaps when you've finished this, we'll have a _ménage à trois_!" her eyes gleamed an impish gleam. Remy's eyes widened and he stood from the couch, causing her to jump to her feet.

"I am not going anywhere near him! He-he likes _men!_ "

"That's no matter to me; you know, Vega, I have a nice friend who I think would be just your type!"

It was my turn to stand, the blood rushing to my cheeks.

"I like _both_! I am _not_ gay!"

Yvette let out a peal of laughter, a cackle in my ears.

"You two have made it obvious to me you like women before! I was only having a little fun..." and she pulled on the zipper of Remy's jacket playfully. "but if you should change your minds..."

Remy shook his head adamantly and she chuckled again.

"Oh Remy! You are far, far too tense. I think you and I should spend time together more often.." and I could see another knowing smile on her face.

"Y-Yvette, this is not the fucking time!" he spat, obviously trying to counter his embarrassment that showed plainly on his reddened face. She sighed, seeing her joke had come to an end.

"Will you two be alright?"

"We will be fine! They won't know what hit them!" he said and I grinned.

* * *

"You know, I really can't understand you." Remy said as we walked along the narrow alleyways, looking for the thugs. The sun began to set as we began our quest for his lady fair.

"Why?"

He shrugged and puffed on his cigarette.

"I've seen the way you fight, I know the way you fight and I know the blood-lust in your eyes. You truly enjoy it, don't you?"

"Well, don't you?"

" _Non._ "

"Bullshit!"I exclaimed with a laugh.

He looked at me, somewhat startled.

"I knew your pretty rich boy attitude would fade! You're becoming like me, Vega. Soon, you will be swearing like me."

"I will be swearing like a depressed Frenchman?"

"Asshole!" he snickered and I chuckled at my little joke.

"Remy, I don't think I understand _you._ You have more power than I could ever dream of! It's so mysterious and yet, I long for it. How could you _not_ enjoy it?"

"I do not enjoy hurting others...as you do."

I grinned at him, feeling my chest tighten.

"Then...you enjoy hurting yourself!"

Remy stopped abruptly and looked at me. He brushed his hair from his eyes and I could see his blue eyes flashing.

"What the hell does that mean, you crazy Spaniard?" he hissed.

I looked into his eyes, my breath almost caught in my throat; I forced the air into my chest and grinned at him.

"Because, Remy. I know how _good_ the pain feels! The way the adrenaline rushes through your body and you want more. It's more intoxicating than anything you can think of—better than sex!" I drew my face close to his and he stepped back.

"No, it _is_ sex!"

"You're insane!" he retorted.

"Tell me, Remy! Tell me the truth!" I implored him.

The idea that Remy was as much of a masochist as I was thrilled me beyond measure and to hear him admit it would be ecstasy.

"There is no truth! There is nothing!" he cried and I could see his hands balled into fists.

I smirked.

"There is _always_ something. You do not fight for power, glory, or pleasure but I know there is some reason. Émilie, perhaps?"

"No! Don't you bring her up now! She is too pure for your mouth."

"Remy, I understand!"  
The pain he felt over losing his sister was deep and I knew it—I never had to know the kind pain he felt but I knew love and the love I felt for my mother was as deep or deeper than the love for his sister.

"No, you _don't._ I failed her, Vega. She lies in a coffin of ice because of me."

"So what?" I scoffed, "Did you kill her? Did you take her life?"

"If I could not save her, then it is the same thing."

My eyes twinkled as a thought occurred to me.

"Remy, you're worse than I thought!"

He gasped.

"I am Catholic, Remy. Did you not think I would figure it out?"

"What are you on about, asshole?"

Remy furrowed his eyebrows and I shook my head.

"You feel guilty, don't you? Would you like me to get you a whip or shall I do it myself?"

He grabbed my shirt collar and leered at me.

"Shut the fuck up! I need no help from you or your god!" and he threw me back.

I chuckled.

"It's alright, Remy. Truly, we are brothers of the soul—even if you are a foul-mouthed Atheist. You do not have to tell me anything you do not wish. Your reaction told me everything already."

 **TO BE CONTINUED...**


End file.
